Pale
by Lilliane
Summary: Sometimes even the fiercest warriors fear to fall. Despite what she thought, she could not do everything on her own. Oneshot.


_**A/N:** Star Trek does not belong to me._

It doesn't take long. But then, it never did.

She wonders vaguely if her brain chemistry has simply been affected by a timely shift in her hormones. (It is the explanation he would offer.) But she dismisses the notion as soon as it begins to form. It would be illogical to attempt to apply logic at this time.

After all, it never made any sense to her: this sensation of how ghosts must feel. (Although if there is any proof of the existence of ghosts, no one is aware of it.) But it carries a human overtone of heavy exhaustion, and for the first time in her life she rues the extra hours spent studying a dialect that was not tested on.

She walks smoothly, yet slowly, back to her dorm. She knows that the moment the door slides open, she will be veritably bombarded with her roommate's displays of limitless energy. Throughout the past few weeks, Gaila had transitioned from studying while indulging audible outlets for her anxiety, to nonchalantly procrastinating and then back faster than a bipolar Klingon. Whatever Gaila's actions would be, Uhura knows it would cause an equal and opposing reaction in her.

And she feels ill equipped for it. She knows—she _feels_ that if she were to step over her worn defenses and give in to impulse, it would be the end. She can't afford that.

But where else can she go?

_The library_, she thinks tiredly, and her body changes direction before she finishes the thought. The place has been a veritable rock in the storm of society and academia. The only thing she prays for is that, unlike a rock, it will never wear away.

But she is not surprised when he falls into step beside her, effortless as a breeze. And as by a breeze, she is soothed.

"Cadet Uhura," he says evenly, somehow making the hard consonants soft.

"Commander Spock," she returns, refusing to offer more. She's tired of being the one to make the effort.

It's his turn now.

"How are you?" he asks, clearly struggling with the strange human query. She couldn't blame him.

How often had she paused at the stalemate between a lie and the truth? It was a place of no time while one was there, then too quickly over when one was not. One could choose to insult or keep one's acquaintances, or to draw closer or push away one's loved ones. Curious how the ugliness was only shared between those of a strong connection.

How often had she chosen a lie?

"I feel…pale."

It was a mere whisper.

He reacted in the only way he knew how.

"Forgive me, but I do not understand. Is not paleness a state of decreased blood flow beneath the skin?"

Perhaps it is better that he never know how cruel he can be.

It would have been easy to walk away, had she been conversing with someone else. But he was not just a "someone else", and bending a rope is always easier than breaking it.

She knows he will listen when others will not. It might not be everything, but it's pretty damn close.

She sighed. "I feel…emotionally stretched. Like almost anything could send me—could cause me to disappear into my mind, or provoke an emotional response. Gaila and our friends—my studies—I fear I've undertaken too much, and the exams haven't even begun."

"You feel overwhelmed."

"To the point of disappearing beneath everything. Haven't you ever felt that?"

She regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth. It's not as though she's unfamiliar with his character; she should have realized that asking Commander Spock a question with the subject "you" and the verb "felt" was next to futile. But when she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, she finds that he is gazing ahead, the slight tightening around his eyes the only indicator that he is lost in either thought or memory.

The problem, she suddenly realizes, is that they are like two frozen rivers. Who can know if a current flows beneath? She has always had a talent for interpretation, but his is a hypocritical language: outwardly mathematical, yet with hidden variables that could have an emotional value.

Sometimes _a_ did not always equal _b_.

When he speaks again, his voice is low and tentative. She could be tempted to call it tender.

"I deduce from the path you are taking that the library is your destination. Would it ease your mind if I aided you with your schoolwork?"

It was not the words he chose, or even the manner in which he spoke them. It was the slight brush of his hand against hers—tactile, human comfort that lasted for half a second—that decided her successful interpretation.

In this equation, _a_ did _not_ equal _b_.

"I would be very grateful for your assistance, Commander."

Perhaps someday, she will tell him the story of her most difficult interpretation yet.


End file.
